ulation disgusted me. My very
humble and obscure position in the midst of all these illustrious
shareholders of the Mutual-Admiration Society, organized by the vanity
of all to the profit of the vanity of each, kindled in me a desire to
show myself frank and independent. I murmured, loud enough to be heard
by all my neighbors,--"Of a truth, the Country's Muse is not Melpomene!"
Madame Emile de Girardin, when Mademoiselle Delphine Gay and in the most
brilliant period of her poetical youth, had styled herself "the
Country's Muse"; her admirers had adopted the title, and it had remained
her poetical _alias_. The exclamation was, therefore, if not very
brilliant, at least very plain and quite just. It soon went around the
room as rapidly as every ill-natured phrase will go; for everybody is
glad to borrow such remarks from his neighbor without paying the price
of them himself. I soon saw one of Madame Emile de Girardin's intimate
friends whisper something into her ear. She blushed. Her thin lips
became thinner. Her nose and her chin, which always seemed as if about
to wage war on each other, became more menacing than ever; her bright,
clear eyes turned from her friend and gave me a glance ten times more
tragic than the five acts of her tragedy. I saw that my exclamation had
been repeated to her, and that a universal anathema was thundered at the
rustic boor, at the barbarian impudent enough to dare to be witty by
Monsieur Mery's side, and to affect to be insensible to the sublime
beauties of "Cleopatre." However, all was not yet lost; I had
unconsciously another way of conquering Madame de Girardin's favor. Her
countenance became wreathed in smiles, she advanced towards me, and
said, in a honeyed tone,--"Well, Count, give me some tidings of our
excellent Duchess de ----, your aunt, I believe?"

In the mood of mind I was then in, nothing could have been more
disagreeable to me than this way of recalling my aristocratic titles at
the very moment when I sought to be nothing but a literary man. I
replied with a careless, indifferent, plebeian air, as if noble titles
were nothing in my opinion,--"The Duchess de ----! Gracious me! I never
see her, and I could not tell you for the life of me whether she is my
aunt or my cousin. Her drawing-room is the stupidest place on earth.
They played whist there at two cents a point. Every door was wadded to
keep draughts and ideas out. I long ago ceased to go there, and now I
would not dare